


Heart of the ocean

by Muse_of_Gods, Shivanessa



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Titanic (1997)
Genre: Consider this a fix it fic, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Homophobic Language, I'm not gonna let Peter die, M/M, Nudity, Poverty, Suicidal Thoughts, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:22:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28651197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Muse_of_Gods/pseuds/Muse_of_Gods, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shivanessa/pseuds/Shivanessa
Summary: Peter Parker, artist and bon vivant on a trip to the new world encounters a gentleman on the verge of committing suicide. He gets to know the man named Tony Stark who travels under the rule of his commanding uncle. On the last fateful days on the RMS Titanic Peter and Tony learn what love truly means.Titanic AU based on the 1997er movie.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 28
Kudos: 31





	1. Memories

**Author's Note:**

> I've decided to work a little more on the Titanic AU and turn it into a fic of sorts. All thanks to the super sweet Muse_of_gods who inspires me so much with her beautiful moodboards and enthusiastic support. Thank you dear! 💖
> 
> I will not write every scene from the movie and the chapters will vary in length. It's a fun project, nothing too serious, I'm just gonna highlight some scenes I think work well with the pairing of Peter Parker as Jack and Tony Stark as Rose. 
> 
> Feel free to leave comments I love to read what you think 🤩😚

Tony Stark sat back in the cozy chair by the large window, his eyes traveling over the sea. He always liked being close to the ocean, despite what had happened 50 years ago. His eyes weren't good anymore, but he still could see the endless blue of the water, calm and soothing from up here. The house rested on top of a cliff, overlooking the private beach and the endless sea. 

Memories surfaced in the back of his mind, and he let them, watching like he would watch a movie. Even if those memories were his own. A melancholic symphony played by a gifted quartet of strings, dark noble wood polished to a high shine, decorated with gilded carvings. Women, adorned with silk, and pelt, and feather, and velvet gowns. Gentlemen in black smokings, stiff but awe-inspiring. Servants everywhere, in white livree and gloves, opening doors with colorful glass inlays. 

All gone. 

_ The sinking of the Titanic. _

On Tony's lap laid the newspaper, showing a picture of the ship leaving Queenstown to start on its journey over the Atlantic Ocean. It was the fiftieth anniversary of the catastrophe and the magazines were full of media coverage. Pride and failure. Arrogance of men in face of nature. 

Tony's hands slipped over the cover as if to pet the ship's photo, but his eyes stayed at the sea. 

His family never understood why he insisted on living so close to the ocean when had survived such a traumatic event. But somehow the sea was calming to him. The waves, the sounds of the seagulls and the wind - it was like home. He was ninety years old, but he would never forget the days he'd spent on board of the greatest ship ever created. And what he had experienced there.


	2. To the new world

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter's and Tony's first glance at each other...

The sun was blasting down on the sea, glistening on the white crests and flying droplets of salt water. The wind blew them over the ocean's sublime waves, endless blue and brightness. But neither wind nor water stood a chance against the Titanic's steel brow cutting forward, her hull as strong as perfect as made by gods. 

Peter felt the powerful movement under his feet and in the metal of the reel he stood against. The young man was gazing out over the sea, smiling, his heart full. 

"Can you believe that we've made it!" Ned gasped next to him. His friend still hadn't gotten over the fact that they won the tickets for this trip in the very last moment before the ship had sailed. 

"To new horizons, Ned. To the new world! I'm going home." Peter gave back and grinned at his friend. This truly was the ship of dreams and he was on top of it. The king of the world. 

Of course, the travel was packed in third class, the beds small and the sound of the ship's engine a constant noise everywhere under deck. But despite the simple accommodation it was clean and even the cheapest cabins had this brand new, kind of shiny look. The knowledge alone to be part of this journey however, the maiden voyage of the world's famous ship, made the people feel special and their trip a destiny. To stand here, feeling the wind on his face - this was life! 

Together they walked back to one of the simple benches that were riveted to the deck, chatting excitedly about what they wanted to do, once they arrived in America. 

Other young men accompanied them, all full of enthusiasm and brought together in this place in hope for a better future. 

Peter searched his bag while he listened to their talks, where they came from and who they traveled with until his hands found the familiar weight of his scetch-book. He started to draw while holding the pages down against the wind with one hand, giving a comment here and there. The chatter bubbled around Peter like the song of the seagulls, but he didn't really listen to it, just sat there and drank the atmosphere like sweet ale. His crayon moved over the paper, following the lines of a smile, a father and his child watching the sea, the girl's hair flying in the breeze. 

Peter finished the scetch and gave it one last scrutinizing look before he turned over to a new page. His eyes searched for a new motive, a person, a specific expression, something to spark his interest and imagination. 

A movement on the upper deck caught Peter's attention and for a moment the people around him and even the scetch-book in his hand was forgotten. 

A gentleman, middle aged with dark hair and beard marched over to the reel, a scarf, caught by the breeze, flapping wildly behind him. At first Peter expected him to slam his fist down on the wood and scream, so much anger was pent in the way he moved. But then it… disappeared. No, not disappeared. The man somehow shoved it down, tamed the volcano on the verge of eruption, shutting it behind a calm facade. The effort to hide the raging emotions was only recognizable in his stiff shoulders and fingers, trapped behind a firm show of sophisticated indignation. The hands that finally landed on the reel touched it softly, almost hesitantly, before the man leaned his weight on them a little. He let his gaze wander over the sea like Peter had done not long ago. But when Peter's eyes had been full of joyful anticipation for what might be coming his way the man's gaze was weighted. Dark. As if he was carried to his own funeral. And still, there was so much grace in the way he moved, the way he held his posture, to not give away what was going on behind his eyes. 

Peter couldn't tear his eyes away and watched him, fascinated. There was so much beauty and so much sadness in the man's expression that his fingers itched to pin it to the paper, but he feared if he would look down a second the gentleman would disappear and Peter would never see him again. 

In that very moment, where Peter pondered if he should give it a try or not, the man's head turned. 

Their eyes met. 

A small crease appeared between the dark eyebrows, another tiny bit of what was going on in him that Peter was able to catch. Irritation at being seen, observed by a stranger. The man looked away, lifting his chin a bit higher. 

Peter wished he would look again. His eyes were black like olives and even from that far he could see that they were beautiful. 

Another man, older, but tall and commanding walked over, his hand gripping the gentleman's elbow. A short exchange of words, heated, but then the dark haired man conceded, lowered his head. Left. 

Peter's eyes followed him. He wasn't sure what he had seen, wasn't sure if he even was supposed to know what gentlemen did or discussed. But deep down he knew that he wished for the man to look at him again. Even if there was this sadness in his eyes. 


	3. I'm involved now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter meet in a desperate moment at the ships rear.

Tony stumbled out of the salon into the cold air of the night. He'd drank too much and needed space. Much space. 

His uncle's words still rang in his head, the dismissal, the laughter of the other men on the table. His own inability to wipe the grin of their faces. He was unable to stand up against Obediha, never had. 

"It may be your name over the door, but it's my company and you know it." 

Yeah, Tony knew it. The adhesion contract his late father tied with Obie made sure that he never would be able to leave, not without losing everything. His company, his inventions, even his name. All he could do was to live in luxury, of course, but like a caged bird never free to do what he wanted. 

_ 'I'm 40 years old and he still calls me boy!' _ he thought bitterly while he made his way between the first class passengers, ignoring the indignation he left in his wake. 

It wouldn't have been so tormenting if they had been back in New York, where Tony could leave and occupy himself with his tinkering or mindless company while his uncle steered the legacy with Tony's name on it. On this blasted boat he felt caged, captured on this cavernous masterpiece of engineering, the unsinkable crown of his uncle's shipping line. _ 'Is this the life you want to live the next twenty years? Being known for inventions that killed countless as much as for being a drunk?'  _

Well, all he could do to depart at least inside his head was to drink, no? And still suffer. 

_ 'I need some air!' _ his intoxicated brain ordered and drove him away from the prying eyes of the other travelers. Unsteady steps carried him away from the chatter and the laughter and light, to the darker parts of the ship. No prying eyes. No need to play his role. 

Safety. 

*

"Don't do it."

Tony turned his head. For the first time he recognized how far he had gone in his attempt to gain solace. Almost his foot lost the grip, his knuckles turning white while he tried to maintain his balance. He was standing on the outer side of the ship's railway, nine decks above the heavy turning propeller. 

With the sudden awareness the whooshing around him became deafening, the vibrations seeping into his hands.the ocean crashed against the ship, calling him. But now the call sounded threatening. 

"Stay back!" he gasped when the panic kicked in. Panic about what he had been abou to do! For real this time. "Don't come any closer!" 

A hasty look over his shoulder confirmed that the person talking to him was a young man from the third class. How embarrassing to be caught on the brink of suicide by a commoner! Tony's heart beat so loud and fast that the young man must be able to hear it. 

The young man however, didn't indicate that he recognized the panic Tony had maneuvered himself into. He held his hands in a calming way, palms open, showing that he was no threat. "Come on. Just gimme your hand. Imma pull you back over." He gestured invitingly, worry all over his face. 

"No!" Tony gave back and despite the direness of the situation he became a tad indignant. How dared this punk to talk to him like that?! "Stay where you are! I mean it! I'll let go!" He felt strangely at the young man's mercy, even if he had no leverage over Tony. For once the whole situation was entirely in his hands. So why did he feel so exposed? Raw? 

The stranger's eyes were kind. He was closer now. How had that happened? Tony felt dizzy. The clear cold air did that to a drunken man, apparently. His gaze traveled again to the tempestuous water underneath. In the dark only the white of the dashing foam was visible. Everything else was black, bottomless, dark. The wind blew cold around his ankles. Tony felt his hands go numb from gripping the rail so hard. 

He didn't want to die! 

But to go back inside to sit by Obediah's side like a well trained pup was… unbearable! 

The young man leaned on the rail beside him now, but made no attempt to touch him. "No, you won't."

Tony's gaze snapped back to the stranger beside him. For a moment he struggled to understand, since so much was going on in his head. 

The young man's look was challenging. 

"What do you  _ mean _ , I won't?!" Tony snapped and straightened his posture as much as possible. "Don't presume to tell me what I will and will not do. You don't know me!" 

"Well, you would've done it already." 

Tony scrunched up his face. His drunk brain denied to comprehend the irritating young man beside him. 

"You're distracting me! Go away!" 

But all it got him was a soft shake of the head. "I can't. I'm  _ involved _ now."

They stared at each other for a couple of moments. Then the irritating young man started to undo his jacket. "You'll let go and imma have to jump after you."

Tony shook his head. Slowly this became tedious. Almost surreal. "Don't be absurd! You'd be killed."

The young man however, started to undo his shoes. "I'm a good swimmer." He let his shoes fall to the deck. "But I tell you the truth, imma lot more concerned about that water being so cold."

Tony looked down into the abyss. He hadn't even considered this. He hadn't considered this line of action at all. 

"How cold?" he asked tentatively. 

"Freezing? Maybe a couple degrees over." Both of them stared into the dark waves now. 

"Water that cold… like down there? Lemme tell you. It hits you like a thousand knifes. Like all over your body."

Tony considered it. The young man was probably right when he took into consideration that the human body was… 

"You can't breathe… you can't think…" the other went on, coloring Tony's physical calculations with feelings. "At least not about anything but the pain."

Tony gulped. 

"That's why I'm not looking forward to jump in after you. But like I said. I'm involved now."

"You're crazy!" Tony turned to the water again. 

The young man smiled. 

"That's what everybody says." he conceded. "But with all due respect, Sir." Their eyes met. "I'm not the one hangin' off the back of a ship here."

*

Somehow the young man had managed to help Tony back to the more or less stable ground on the deck. Stumbling he held onto his savior for a couple of moments while Tony tried to calm his strongly beating heart. 

"Tony? Where are you son?!" Obadiah's voice got carried over by the wind. 

Tony looked up and then let go as if he had burned himself on the young man. 

"I'm here…" 

Three men in smokings and one in uniform hurried over. Obediah's face was furious. 

"Tony. What are you doing?" He stopped himself. "And who is your… friend?" His cold gaze met the young man who stood close to him, still in socks and without a jacket. Tony grew aware that he himself had a disheveled look, his smoking crumpled and his cheeks red. A highly suggestive and inappropriate situation. 

"This is… ah…" 

"My name is Peter. Uhm. Peter Parker. Nice to meet you."

Obediah ignored the outstretched hand and just looked him up and down before he turned to Tony. 

"Come inside. It's cold. You'll get sick." 

But Tony didn't follow his command for once. "Mr. Parker here saved me." he said and lifted his chin in front of his uncle and his friends. "I… heard a strange noise and wanted to have a look at the propeller. To see if it's working alright. I must have slipped. And Mr. Parker got my hand and pulled me back. He is a hero!" 

"Is that so?" Obadiah's gaze was still as cold as the water below. 

Tony pleaded Peter with his eyes to not give away what he truly had been up to.

Peter nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, something like that."

Obadiah sighed, clearly unhappy with the events. "We need to reward him then." He produced a wallet. "How about 50 dollars. Would that be enough Mr. Parker?" 

Peter lifted his hands in a dismissive gesture. "Ah, no… I haven't…" 

"No? You want more?" 

"No! I mean. Uhm…" 

Tony stepped in, shielding the young man from his uncle's growing wrath. "How about we invite him for dinner? Show him hospitality at our table? Tomorrow?" 

Obediah's face wasn't exactly happy, but in the face of his friends and the ship officer he swallowed down what he was about to say and nodded. 

Tony turned to Peter. "Good?" Why was his heart still beating so fast? 

Peter answered with a smile. "Good."


	4. A life's worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony asks Peter for a walk on deck.

The next morning was a cold one, and Peter stayed under deck, little Mary-Jane on his lap, showing her how to draw. Mary-Jane was the child of an Irish immigrant who shared the cabin with wife and five kids next to Peter's. The older siblings ran around, chasing each other, but Mary-Jane loved to watch Peter's hands draw people. 

Since the immigrants came from all over Europe a clutter of different languages was to be heard around the common room. Some tried to stay with their own, but the narrowness and the boredom on the ship brought the people together. 

Even if it was packed under deck, the mood was light. Ned, sitting across Peter, tried to communicate with hands and feet with a girl from Spain while next to him a danish' couple shared simple words with Mary-Jane's parents. 

From one moment to the other however, the noise of laughter and conversations subsided. 

Peter looked up, curious what caused the quiet. 

His jaw dropped. 

At the entrance stairs that lead to the deck stood a gentleman. The fine wool of his suit, the smooth scarf he had wrapped around himself against the cold wind, even his hair and perfectly trimmed beard differentiated him so utterly from everybody else in the room that he appeared like a vision. This was underlined by the crisp light coming from behind, outlining his silhouette with a subtle glow. A peacock descending in a pack of crows. 

Mr. Stark looked around, his eyes hadn't adapted to the dim light in the third-class common room it seemed. The second he became aware of all the eyes laying on him however, Peter could see the tiny speck of doubt crossing his face. His hands made a small restless motion as if he had no idea where to put them and he raised his chin a little higher, as if it could shield him from the stares. But then the facade Peter already knew settled in place. Despite feeling clearly uncomfortable, Mr. Stark straightened his shoulders and stepped forward, nodding to the people who mustered him curiously as if they were associates on his own deck. His walk was confident, every inch a wealthy, powerful, and sophisticated gentleman. A shell to let the world roll off. 

Somehow Peter felt pity for him, for having to wrap his manners like a cover around him. It probably wasn't easy to be here, among people foreign to him, gaped at. To free Mr. Stark from the inappropriate stares he got up, doing a little wave to catch his attention. 

The look of sheer relief when Mr. Stark saw him, made Peter's mouth corners twitch upwards. 

"Mr. Stark. Good morning."

Somehow Peter felt a bit awkward, now that he had stepped up into everybody's attention too. He tried to be not too obvious about it and keep the fighting to a minimum. 

Mr. Stark hurried over to come to a halt in front of Peter, as fidgety and awkward as Peter felt. "Good morning Mr. Parker. I'm glad to see you. Ahm. I hope you're well. "

"Thank you." Peter smiled, then looked around, indicating at the curious audience. "Why… don't we take a walk on deck? The morning is beautiful at sea."

Mr. Stark's smile grew grateful and delighted at the same time. "I like the idea. Please, after you."

Without further regard for the people who were curious about what a have-not had to discuss with an upper class gentleman, Peter lead the unexpected guest up the stairs, his heart a young bird in his chest. 

*

"I wanted to see Europe, so I signed on on a ship to Spain. From there I traveled northeast, Italy, Germany, France. And then England. Now I'm trying to get back home."

They walked side by side over the upper decks. Not many people were around. Not only was it fresh outside, but it was early and the upper class liked to rest longer. Tony listened to Peter's tale and his heart wanted to swell from just the idea of so much freedom. To go where he wanted, to see what he longed for. To be with whom he desired… 

He cleared his throat. " And how did you pay for all this?"

"Ah, that's no big deal. I work here and there, often I get by with my drawings. If not, I hire as a day laborer. I'm quite good with all kind of machines, so there's always work."

"Machines? How interesting! You happen to be an engineer?" 

"I wouldn't go that far. But I've always felt this curiosity about complex things." 

Tony nodded. He shared that feeling. They arrived at a part that overlooked the back of the ship and the third class sun deck. It was quiet, except for the ever present engine sounds. 

"So you take every work that is offered... but… isn't it difficult to succeed in things you never learned how to do in the first place?" Tony couldn't fathom how he himself would handle it if he had to. 

"Not in the slightest! You get to know a lot of fine people when you have no clue

They help you out. Just ask around. And what you couldn't do in the beginning, you master over time." Peter laughed. 

Tony watched him, enraptured by the confidence and zest for life. Peter was so much younger than him, and still, he knew more about the world than Tony in so many ways. 

"I wish I could be like that. Just… go wherever I want to."

"I'm sure you can! With all the money and stuff. No problem, eh?" 

Tony smiled, but didn't answer. Peter didn't have to know about his misery with Obadiah and the company and all that. How pathetic and powerless he was. 

He turned around, leaning against the rail so that he hadn't had to look Peter in the eye. 

The young man however seemed to catch onto the mood swing and leaned in a bit, his big eyes full of concern. 

"My apologies. It seems I somehow overstepped."

"Ah. No, no you haven't. It's just…" Tony searched for words. "All that money comes with responsibilities. No matter how much I may want to simply walk away from it all… there are things to consider."

"For example?" 

Tony frowned. 

"You're… quite nosy, are you not?" 

Peter grinned. 

"Well, it wasn't me who came into the third class and asked me all those questions about my life and how I ended on this ship."

Tony felt caught but the sparkle in Peter's eyes made his lips twitch in amusement. 

"Maybe I was just looking for company. But no. No matter how joyful a stroll with you turned out to be. I came with a concern." 

Peter straightened his posture nervously so Tony made a pacifying gesture. "Don't worry it's nothing serious. I just… wanted to thank you again." Tony felt his cheeks heat up a bit when he thought in what a state Peter had seen him yesterday. "I wanted to merely thank you for not giving away what you caught me doing." If Obie knew how close he had been to end himself he would admit him to psychiatric care, that much was sure. 

"You must think me weak and quite a crybaby." he sighed, more to himself. 

Peter's fingers touched his hand. Not obvious, not that he was laying his hand on top of Tony's, no, it was just a small gesture, his little finger pressing softly against Tony's from the side. A small move that nobody would notice. 

When Tony looked up Peter's eyes were serious. 

"I don't think anything like that about you."

Tony felt a lump in his throat expand, rendering him unable to speak. But Peter wasn't done. 

"I was merely asking myself what you have to endure, that makes you consider such a step. I'm sure it's nothing to be taken lightly. 

Why were his eyes suddenly stinging? Tony averted his face to prevent Peter from seeing it. The words wrapped around him like a tight hug and he wished so much to let go and sink into that feeling, to open up and tell, but… 

"This is a highly inappropriate conversation Mr. Parker. We shouldn't…" He interrupted himself. When he turned to Peter again his eyes were dry and his mask back in place. Peter's expression was mildly surprised but something told Tony that he couldn't fool him. How out of the ordinary! 

Despite the chaos in his chest Tony smiled to himself. Being around Peter was… nice. Igniting a turmoil of different emotions. But still... 

"I hope you're not mad at me for asking you to dinner." he steered the conversation back to a more moderate territory. "In fact it will be a tedious affair I'm afraid." 

Peter smiled in return. "I'm looking forward to it!" 


	5. Nobody but you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter meet for dinner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapter is a bit short, but I loved the ending and wanted to keep this as the end of the chapter so here we go... :)

Peter fiddled with the starched cufflinks, trying to not be too obvious about it. He'd never before worn something so  _ tight _ . The smoking consisted of more layers he'd even thought possible for a man's outfit, but apparently this was how the upper class dressed for the evening. 

"You look splendid. As if it was tailored just for you" Ms. Potts had said when Peter stepped out of the walk-in closet of her suite. Thankfully she overheard that Peter had received the invitation to join for dinner and decided that Tony Stark was not to be embarrassed by his friend getting roasted alive for looking as poor as he was. "It's all about clothing." she explained while folding Peter's clothes on a chair. "And hauteur. But mostly the clothes."

And it was true. A look in her mirror confirmed that he indeed looked every inch a gentleman's. Peter even had managed to slick his unruly curls back, making him look like some kind of noble heir. So what if the collar had an almost suffocating quality and the jacket was so tight that he could barely move his arms. 

*

Ms. Potts didn't accompany him to the dining hall, but with her instructions he made it to the entrance of the ship's first class salon without trouble. 

Two servants in livree opened the double doors with glass inlays to the first-class equivalent of the common room. The polished dark wood banisters and the beautiful carpet was of course way more exquisite than anything Peter had ever seen before. He tried to not gape too much at all the shiny things when he crossed the big clock, embedded into the wooden wall where the broad staircase divided. The watch's hand seemed to show him the way and Peter let himself wash down with the gathering upper-class crowd, into the entrance area of the dining hall. 

The ladies and gentlemen flowed around him as if they moved on clouds, quiet talk and laughter bubbling, diamonds and pearls glistening. From the corner of his eye he inspected the other men, who all wore the same outfit as himself, black smoking with white shirt, starched collar and bowtie. 

Peter's body longed for a more relaxed stance, a chair to put his foot on or a wall to lean against. Observation of the other gentlemen however, made it obvious that this was not appropriate here. Stance upright, rigid but smooth, one hand behind the back, the other relaxed at his side. Chin up, eyes clear. He copied different movements to while away the time he had to wait. 

A tall man drew Peter's attention, the bald head and steel grey beard immediately to be recognized. Mr. Stane, Mr. Stark's uncle, walked down the stairs, a lady next to him that Peter didn't recognize. 

For a second he feared that Mr. Stark was tied up with something, that he would not come and Peter had dressed up like this for nothing. He opened his mouth to ask, his eyes searching Stan's gaze. Mr. Stane however, moved past him without batting an eye, obviously not recognizing him. 

Instead Peter felt someone else's eyes on himself. 

He looked up, along the staircase and the breath caught in his throat. Standing there, by the clock was Mr. Stark. 

The suit wasn't black like all the other penguins, no, it was deep dark red, like molten stone, and so perfectly tailored that he looked like a perfect statue. Peter's eyes climbed over the waistcoat to the white shirt and arrived at Mr. Stark's face, recognizing the fresh trim of beard and hair, accentuating the lines of his face perfectly. 

Mr. Stark's eyes laid on him, a bit widened for a few second, taking in Peter's appearance as he did with him. The older man wetted his lips and Peter felt his heart starting to thumb in his chest at the tiny gesture. But then Mr. Stark smiled. It wasn't a smile like he knew from the third class people, open and honest and loud, no. It was tiny, and secret and almost shy to be seen in public. But it was there, and it was for Peter alone when Tony stark stepped down the stairs to greet him. 


	6. Swimming with the sharks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner in first class - Obie is furious.

The dinner was about to start, accompanied by low conversations and the light jingling of silverware around the tables. 

Tony had a hard time tearing his eyes away from Peter. The young man looked so different just because of the clothes. But his eyes were the same, these lively and bright gazes that made Tony's heart beat a little faster. Just little gestures distinguished him from the other patrons, like when Pepper discretely showed him how to place the napkin on his lap. 

Everybody else at the table thought him to be one of them. A gentleman. New money, of course, but one of their own kind. They regarded him with friendly interest, glad to see a new face in their midst. 

Obediah however, was reliable to fill anyone in on Peter's true origins. 

"And how's third class accommodations, Mr. Parker? I heard they're quite luxurious." he asked with a smile, but his eyes were cold. 

Peter remained undisturbed by that and shrugged, ignoring the confused stares of the others. "It's quite alright. Almost no rats."

Nervous chuckle rose, but Pepper - Tony would love her forever for it - stepped in. "Mr. Parker joined us at the invitation of Mr. Stane." she explained to the others. "It happened that he rescued Tony from a very dire situation yesterday. He's a hero!" 

Interested murmur followed the statement, but from the corner of his eyes Tony could see how Obie grated his teeth in a smile. He wasn't willing to let go. "And where exactly do you  _ live _ , Mr. Parker?" Obviously this was the overture to another mocking and Tony opened his mouth to interfere, but before he could even say a word, Peter answered. 

He met Obie's stare without backing away. 

"Well right now my address is the RMS Titanic. After that I'm in God's good humor." the young man threw a smile at the people gathered around the table.

Obidaha almost lost it at the careless answer, but caught himself and took a sip of his drink instead. "And you find this rootless existence _appealing_ , do you?" 

To Tony's astonishment Peter still didn't back away. In fact he even continued to smile the confident little smile Tony already admired so much. 

"Yes, sir. I do." he glanced around the table before he met Obie's stare right on again. "I mean, I got everything I need right here with me. Air in my lungs and a few blank sheets of paper." He grabbed one of the bread rolls and took a bite. "Man I love waking up not knowin' what's gonna happen. Who I'm gonna meet."

When Peter's eyes met Tony's his mouth felt dry. 

He knew he should look away, not hang on the younger man's lips, fascinated, but he couldn't. Everything Peter said rang so deeply in him, lighting a light there, that Tony couldn't let fade away again. 

Peter held his gaze a couple of seconds, then turned again to the whole table. "Or where I'm gonna wind up. Yesterday night I was sleepin' under a bridge and now here I am, on the grandest ship in the word, having champagne with you fine people." He gestured to the servant to pour him some more what ignited amused laughter among the others except Obie. 

"I figured life's a gift. And I don't intend on wasting it."

This time Peter didn't look at Tony, but still he somehow knew that these words held a deeper meaning, and were meant for him. A hand to hold onto when he felt himself standing at the edge of the abyss. An invitation to follow Peter on a journey into an unknown land. 

Tony didn't really listen further to the ongoing conversation at the table and focused on his food instead, trying hard to not stare at the young man inappropriately. 

Peter chatted with Pepper who sat next to him as if they were old friends and even the others didn't seem to mind his presence. But Obie was furious. Tony could see it in the way he held his cutlery, hear it in the short remarks that were all he contributed to the conversation. It was better to not enrage him further. 

*

The dinner went by without incidents. Peter had a rough kind of charm that everybody found delightful and he seemed to like the company too. 

After desert the group dispersed slowly. Peter, getting up from his chair, bowed his head in greeting. "Thank you for the nice evening. But now it's time for me to row with the others again. I'll take my leave." with a last nod he left, making his way between the tables to the entrance hall. 

Tony watched him go, leaning back in his chair. All of his body and soul longed to follow, but he knew he couldn't. It would have been inappropriate. 

"What's up, nephew? Are you coming?" Obie looked down on him, his mood still agitated but a cigar already in hand. 

Tony shook his head slowly. 

He shouldn't do this. 

He shouldn't. 

But his mouth started talking without waiting for him to catch up. 

"I'm going to bed. I… don't feel so well. I think I might have caught something on deck." He touched his throat. 

Obediah looked him up and down but then nodded and left. He and his associates made their way to the smoke salon, a place Tony hated, since Obie never let a chance go by to 'show him his place'. 

As soon as the door had closed behind the other man Tony got up, his eyes already searching the entrance. 

"Maybe hurry. I think he might not have made it out yet." Pepper mused into her napkin and Tony took her by the word. Surprisingly swift for somebody feeling unwell he left the dining hall. 

*

Peter awaited him by the clock and his sight made Tony's heart speed up in nervous excitement. The young man turned when Tony reached him, smiling. 

"I hoped you'd come." Then his smile turned into a smirk. "How about I'd show you a real party?"


	7. In third class

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony and Peter dance

The common room of the third class was packed. Smoke hung in the air and the lovely tune of a fiddle danced above the people’s heads. Everybody seemed to be engaged in any kind of activity, be it talking with excited hand gestures and wild expressions, or playing cards, arm wrestling, even dancing. 

Tony watched the crowd with wide eyes, unable to tame the wide smile on his face.. Everybody was so much more  _ alive _ than he was used to! He couldn't tear his gaze away from all the bustling and it was only due to Peter that he didn't stay rooted to the spot to gape. The young man grabbed his hand and pulled him into the crowd, his voice carried away by the noise. 

They stopped in front of a man who poured dark beer into tall glasses. Peter grabbed two of them and handed one to Tony, raising his own. 

Tony gulped down a huge part of it, relishing the bitter sweet taste that was oh so different from champagne. He wiped froth from his beard and grinned at Peter who eyed him in obvious surprise.

“Thought a gentleman couldn’t drink beer?”

Peter shook his head with a grin and also emptied half of his glass. 

Then he invited Tony to a round of dice and with more beer the game became even funnier. Tony loosened his bowtie and during an armwrestling with a fellow gentleman it somehow disappeared. Which was well enough since it was warm down here and he longed to free himself from the tight collar. Peter already had done so, his long neck giving a beautiful contrast to the black and white of the smoking. Tony got rid of his collar too and opened two buttons. The heated look Peter sent his way filled him with a warm glow like nothing else had for a long time. 

Time for more beer!

They crossed the man with the fiddle who was accompanied by a fellow with a harmonica but both instruments together were too small in their voices to really reach through the room.

Tony stopped in front of the musicians, leaning over to make himself heard to Peter above the noise. “There should be more. Like, an organ or such. Louder!” 

Peter shrugged with a frown. “There was an accordion, but somebody fell in it and it’s broken.”

Tony raised his brows? “Broken?”

Peter nodded.

Tony already rolled up his sleeves. “Show me!”

*

Peter watched Mr. Stark with boundless astonishment. The man who he’d expected to be stone-drunk by now fiddled with the tiniest screwdriver he’d ever seen inside the accordion. A cigarette hung from his lips and he looked way more focused and clear that Peter had ever seen him. Mr. Stark had somehow improvised a sort of glue to fix the bellows and now worked on the treble mechanism. Peter knew his share about mechanisms, but something as delicate as this… Well, maybe Mr. Stark was  _ this  _ drunk and simply dabbled around before admitting that he couldn’t fix it. 

But truth to be told he doubted it.

A group of curious onlookers had already gathered around them, placing bets and discussing the chance for success.

“Hand me my beer.” Tony ordered and Peter obeyed, watchin the man taking a deep gulp before placing the finished instrument on his lap. “Hey, you! Come here!”

The voice of authority was all that it took to make the other musicians come closer.

Did Mr. Stark even knew how commanding his presence was when he was too focused to become anxious Peter wondered. Before he finished the thought however, Tony started to tap his foot loudly. “Okay gentlemen, give me the jig, will you?”

The fiddler nodded surprised and started to play the happy tune according to Mr. Starks tapping. The harmonica joined in and then somebody clapped his hands to the rhythm. And then Mr. Stark started to play the accordion.

Peter gaped at him when the man’s nimble fingers slid over the keys while he pumped and pulled to provide the needed air. The music gained momentum. Even more joined in, drumming along with pans and chairs until the rhythm pulsed through the room, carrying everybody. People started to dance to the tune, their feet adding more rhythm, making the floor shake with the sound. Mr. Stark grinned at the others, his body moving to the sound, his surprisingly strong arms playing the heavy instrument with ease.

Peter’s eyes shone with admiration when he gripped Mr. Stark’s hand to pull him up from the chair. The man regarded him with wide eyes but Peter simply took the instrument from him to hand it to its rightful owner.

“Play for a dance, will you?” he asked, laughing before he grabbed Stark’s hand and pulled him along into the crowd.

*

Tony followed Peter and somebody else gripped his other hand. The group ran, jumped, frolicked through the room, cheered on by the clapping and singing bystanders. His head was light and his heart full - never before had he felt this alive. Peter smiled at him like the sun. When the young man pulled him onto a table to dance with him one on one for everybody to see, a small voice tried to reprimand him about how inappropriate it was, two men dancing here in public. But the fact that a gentleman came down here to drink and chat and dance already beat everything, so what was there to lose?

*

Indeed, Tony’s presence was such a strange and exceptional thing among their midst that none of the third class passengers hardly counted it as something to think about. 

That didn’t apply however to the trusted servant of Tony’s uncle, who finally had found the missing nephew. He watched the merry activity for some time, weighing if he should intervene or immediately call his employer. He decided against both. Mr. Stane would know best what to do about such unacceptable behavior. With one last look at the shamelessly dancing pair he left, carrying a hint of smoke, beer and laughter with him back to the first class.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the chapters are a bit on the shorter side, but I don't have much time to write at the moment, unfortunately. T.T Despite, I love to read what you think :)


End file.
